


there's a mark where you were breathing

by solsikkepop



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Courier Ghost/Ogden, Courier Six - Freeform, F/M, Implied Romance, Lonesome Road DLC, Mentions of Slavery, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Unrequited Love, canonically mute courier, courier six: the ghost of the mojave, escaped slave!courier, implied courier/ulysses, mute courier, tiny courier big destiny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 10:04:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14974871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solsikkepop/pseuds/solsikkepop
Summary: Whatever this woman was, it was bigger than him.





	there's a mark where you were breathing

Ulysses watched her hover by the window, looking out over the expanse of the Divide. Not much to see, apart from the bones of what could’ve been. Broken body, now. Only shattered cement, stairwells open to the radiation and savage winds; rebars, support beams all jutting out like veins. All the blood drained out to stain her hands. Her delivery had seen to that. But they’d agreed to leave the past behind them. Nothing else to be done.

An earthquake trembled in the distance, low and menacing like thunder. Windows, furniture, floor, quivering gently all around them. Then all was still, and silent, like her. Courier remained unmoved, as he’d come to expect. Beginning to think there were few things in the world able to shake the rigid foundation she’d built herself on.

Before he summoned her here, had watched her pick her way along Route 95 for a time. Then the Long 15. Sometimes she was with a group: men, women, ghouls, beasts. Mismatched, bickering amongst itself. She was alone more often. Searching for something. Someone. Watched her banish obstructions, dodge the raiders and slavers that prowled the long stretch of highway hunting the vulnerable and unwary. Watched her hide in plain sight. Watched her pass beneath the shadow of a thousand nations and emerge unchanged, time and time again.

Had lives in her, cunning. Hard woman to find. Hard to kill. Hard to break. Earth had torn asunder beneath her feet, and she kept moving. Bullet to the head had chipped away at her delicate cerebrum, forever notching the skin above her brow. Left her in constant agony. And she rose from the grave, single-minded and defiant and constant.

Been in thrall once, too. Brand on her palm told him so. Seen it earlier, when he was pulling her into his lap by her wrist. Laved his tongue over the calloused fingers. Mark of the Bull. Slave, and a troublesome one. Latticework of scars on her back confirmed that. Yet not even Legion, collar, and scourge could keep her in chains.

Could turn her back in, he thought. If he wanted. Might be rewarded handsomely. Might be crucified alongside her, dying slowly in the desert sun. Neither possibility appealed to him. Not his place to decide her fate. Knew that now. Whatever this woman was — courier, savior, harbinger, ghost — it was bigger than him. Ulysses could feel its immensity pressing against the walls, unwilling and unable to minimize itself. Made the spartan room feel more crowded than it was. This one was not made for cages, undersized rooms, anything less than the sprawling blueness of a Mojave sky.

She hadn’t wanted him to know. Fear flashed in her eyes, briefly, when she realized, until his mouth on her neck drove it from her mind and her fingers into his hair. Past, such an imposing and vengeful thing, could stay where it was.

He kept the histories. Committed their harsh lessons to memory and cherished them like ancestors. Still he found himself admitting — and gladly, despite everything — that he would never look back again if looking forward kept her in his sight.

But it would not be. Could not be. She turned on him from the window. Diminutive, stoic, smothering him with her quiet enormity. Knew with a painful twist in his heart she was already a thousand miles away. Soon to be gone forever, just like the first time. Not even a wine-red strand of hair left behind to mark her passage. Nothing except the touch of her, the scent of her, overwhelming and immensely private that he could feel sinking into his every pore.

She could shake him off, move on. But he would never be rid of her, never be able to catch her. Make her stay. Would likely turn to dust in his arms if he had a mind to try. She was a nymph from the old stories, stubborn and elusive. Unearthly enough to scorch his heart. She kept herself in a place none could reach, and none could follow.

She was the ghost of the Mojave, beyond the reach of Bear and Bull. Beyond him, even here.

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't much i just had it sitting around on my tumblr doing nothing. i wanted to practice writing with ulysses's voice, think it turned out okay. my courier is an intense, complicated little lady and i'm not any closer than ulysses (or anyone else) is to figuring her out. but that might just be my way of saying, i have no idea what the fuck to do with her. haaa. title inspired by the shearwater song of the same name.


End file.
